Ballet Shoes.

What delicate little sheeves of fabric, what tiny precious instruments for the dance floor. Creating grace and perfection on the stage, as they allow the human foot to glide like oil on a canvas....

Yeah I hate them too.

Ballet shoes have pretty much been the bane of my existence this year. (I never thought I would say  that particular sentence in my lifetime, but there you have it.) They SUCK. Here is my woeful and detailed account of Ballet II, my Crazy Asian professor, and my unprecedented line of misfortunes with online ordering.

The  year began like any other. Except that it didn't because this is college... so nevermind.... Anyways. I was just beginning my adventure of college life and learning about the joys of purchasing those useless but "vitally important" things for school. I had waited to ask my professor what kind of ballet shoes he preferred before I bought them because I had no idea where to start. So he told me he liked canvas shoes the best and I got right down to ordering those suckers.

I got online, and found some super cheap ones and bingo I had ordered my first pair of ballet shoes. Pink, canvas, size 7, correct address entered, everything. Life was dandy.

 It continued to be dandy for about 2-3 weeks and then I was like, okay shoes from CA don't take 2-3 weeks to get here. So I called the company... and boy, did they have a genuine neanderthal operating that system. The telephone lady was so stupid. I had to explain everything twice and finally she looked it up on her computer. Apparently these cave-people had sent it to the wrong place, they'd mixed up orders. SO I waited for another 2 weeks for the order to get here.

Meanwhile, every single day the Crazy Asian was always asking for an update on the shoes. "Are they here yet?" "Are you tracking the order?" and he'd always end with the reminder: "I remind you that it is class policy for you to have the proper shoes." Ugh. I'm doing all I can crazy man, cool it.

After another week of biting my nails and checking my mails, the redirected order had finally arrived! I was so happy I was jumping up and down. The main reason for this excitement was because the Crazy Asian told me I couldn't come to class next time if I didn't have shoes. So with great delight I opened the box...

They had sent me size 6. And yes they were WAY too small. You can only imagine my reaction. Well actually probably not, I tried them on and I just started laughing maniacally. Like a regular lunatic. My roommate Tara was very concerned. I was amazed at the extent of my misfortune. So, out of a crazed frustration, I cut off the toes of my brand new, too small, too pink horrible shoes. Cut them right off. Then, I used some duct tape to lengthen the toe and MAKE them fit. I made a small triangular inscission on the sides so that the elastic would lengthen as well. When finished, I had created ballet shoes that not only fit, but also sparkled with that duct-tapey metallic shimmer!

JK they looked like miniature hobo sacks. They semi-worked but they were not, how shall we say, "asthetically pleasing"...

As my roommate Tara was watching all of this lunacy, she offered to take me to a dance store in Enoch. (Enoch, if you don't know, is like, 5 min away) Where I could pick up some shoes, actually try them on, and be done with the whole thing. So I agreed, we looked up the address of the store on Google maps and we were off! Funny thing though...

THE STORE IS IN THE TWILIGHT ZONE!!!!!

I'm not kidding, we went to the exact address from Google, (and we had double checked the address!)
It was on Tumbleweed Drive in Enoch. Considering all of Enoch is about the size of a Costco, we were absolutely certain there could not be TWO Tumbleweed Drives in Enoch. And yet. We got to the address and it was a house. In a neighborhood. Remote and all house-like. So we looked up the store on Google once again on Tara's smart phone, just to make sure we weren't crazy. There was a phone number on the page so I called it and it went to a machine that said, "Hi, you've reached the Johnson residence, please leave a message. Beep." So the phone number was wrong too? Then we thought maybe it's still a dance store because some of those crazy dance moms open their own dance store and operate it from their cozy home...

It was just too far-fetched, there wasn't even a sign out or anything. I was 100% sure this was just a random house but Tara said it wouldn't hurt to ask them if they knew where this mysterious store was. After all, if your home address was listed as "Image Dance Wear" at least twice in the Google search engine, it's probably a common occurrence for these people.... Right?? So I went up to the door and knocked and this teenage girl with a hideous face answered it. I timidly asked, "Do you know where Image Dance Wear is?" And she looked at me with that familiar stare I'd gotten from Tara earlier... the 'you are insane' look. She said she had no idea what I was talking about and slammed the door in my face.

Okay. SO either the CIA put the pig girl in that house to cover up the remains of the bombing of Image Dance Wear.... OR the store is in the Twilight Zone and pig girl is just that horrendous of a human being. Either way, it was the cherry on top for my failed crusade.

Dejected and thoroughly embarrassed, we headed home, to my hobo shoes. I wore them the next day so that I wouldn't get kicked out. Everyone was looking at me like the fat kid in elementary school. Also, while we were doing leaps one of my duct-tape tips flew off and hit another girl in the face.

After class I attempted to inform the Crazy Asian of the situation since he looked disapprovingly at me all class hour. But I had forgotten that I had gum in my mouth... guhhhhh. That is also against class policy if you wondering. So he 'chewed' me out on that one for about 10 min. I got the whole "You are a dancer, you should know that is not acceptable. You know better. This is not a dance 101 class." Crazy Asian, I am not chewing gum to attack your spiritual sanctuary you call a dance studio. It was an honest mistake that I forgot to spit it out. Did any of that leave my mouth? NO it didn't. I took it like a man. JK. But I was peeved at his rudeness, so I just left without the hobo shoe explanation and apology.

Later I got online and ordered some NEW ballet shoes. I made sure to get pink, canvas, size 7. Correct address, everything was in order. These came in less than a week, so that was exciting. Until I opened the box, to find 2 pairs of shoes. I guess they had messed up again, because I distinctly remember selecting "quantity- 1". That wasn't even the worst part though. I got one pair of shoes out to try them on. Sure enough, they were size 7, but they had sent me a different brand than before, so they were ENORMOUS. Like if Goofy took ballet, that's what they looked like on my feet.

So in great defeat, I emailed my professor and told him the circs and stated that I would be wearing my Irish dance shoes for the rest of the semester because I was DEF. not ordering online anymore. He said he was fine with that, but made it clear to me that if I "ever want to progress in the art, you will need the proper shoes." Okay dude. That's fine. Does it look like I'm dying to be a ballerina? Calm yourself.

I have been wearing my Irish dance shoes since and I'm not touching ballet shoes for a while.

And that, for now, is the END of my tale. It is a soap opera and a half. Congrats if you made it through.